


tell me how love will ruin us

by epoenine



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Aromantic spectrum, Demiromantic, Eventual Romance, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Platonic Relationships, Platonic Romance, Queer Platonic Partners
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-10
Updated: 2015-03-10
Packaged: 2018-03-17 04:58:20
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,688
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3516179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/epoenine/pseuds/epoenine
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Enjolras figures out he’s on the aromantic spectrum the summer before he starts university, when Combeferre kisses him and Enjolras has to tell him it’s not that he doesn’t feel any romantic feelings for him, he just doesn’t feel any romantic feelings for anyone at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	tell me how love will ruin us

**Author's Note:**

> enjolras thinks he's aromantic at first, but he is demiromantic. i feel that, being demiromantic, i have enough knowledge to write a character that way. since i'm not aromantic, i don't know whether it's seems like i'm dismissing the identity. if it seems like i am insinuating that everyone develops romantic feelings after some time, i am not. enjolras only develops romantic feelings after a connection or bond with combeferre, which is the definiton of demiromantic.  
> i do not mean to be offensive in any way. i am all for any amis on the aro spectrum, and i want more representation for all aro identities, so i wrote demiromantic enjolras.  
> i hope you enjoy!  
> title from richard siken's scheherazade, but paraphrased a little

Enjolras figures out he’s on the aromantic spectrum the summer before he starts university, when Combeferre kisses him and Enjolras has to tell him it’s not that he doesn’t feel romantic feelings for him, he just doesn’t feel romantic feelings for anyone.

Combeferre, with a tight-lipped smile, tells him he understands and if he makes Enjolras uncomfortable at any time, he should tell him.

It’s then that Enjolras realizes he has the best friend in the entire world. He’s barely nineteen and he feels like the luckiest person to have found Combeferre, found someone so kind and understanding.

Enjolras leans his head on Combeferre’s shoulder, thanks him, and doesn’t try to hold back his smile.

Weeks later, after he’s met Jehan and stayed up half the night talking about different romantic and sexual orientations, he knocks on Combeferre’s bedroom door in the flat they share, grateful that Combeferre is just across the hall whenever he needs him.

Combeferre opens the door and immediately asks if something’s wrong. Enjolras, feeling pure platonic affection, tells Combeferre that he’s been reading, and he has an idea, and Combeferre can say no to all of it, or some of it, or none of it at all, but Enjolras doesn’t want this unless Combeferre wants it, too.

Understandably, Combeferre is confused.

“I was talking to Jehan,” he explains, “and they told me about their platonic partner, and how there’s no romantic attraction in their relationship, but they function just like any other couple, and I thought--well, if it was something you’d like, I’d be willing to try.”

He doesn’t fidget, doesn’t do anything to show how nervous he is, but the tension in his shoulders dissipates as soon as Combeferre gives him a reassuring smile.

“Sure,” he says. Enjolras breaks out into a grin. “We’ll have to establish boundaries, so neither of us makes the other uncomfortable, because that’s the last thing we want.”

Enjolras nods, expression sobering. “We’ll talk about it after dinner, then. I have some coursework to get through. We can order pizza and watch whatever movie you want,” he says, even though he’ll end up picking green peppers off of his pizza and watching some documentary on space. He doesn’t mind.

In fact, he’s content the rest of the afternoon, looking forward to the evening. Once he hears someone deliver their pizza, he makes his way into the living room, sitting down in his usual spot on the couch.

Throughout dinner, Enjolras and Combeferre’s shoulders brush and their thighs press together. After they’re done eating, though, Enjolras curls up into Combeferre’s side like always, and it feels wonderfully familiar.

He falls asleep halfway into the movie, waking up and feeling bad about the fact that he dozed off on Combeferre’s shoulder. Combeferre brushes it off, of course, telling him that it’s fine.

Enjolras rubs at his eyes and stifles a yawn, sitting upright so he and Combeferre can talk.

Gentle, Enjolras starts with, “I don’t want to be addressed as your boyfriend.” He looks apologetic about it.

“I don’t want you to feel like you’re not giving me what I want,” Combeferre returns. His voice lowers and he has to look away. “This is what I want. Don’t worry about the rest.” He pauses while Enjolras nods. “Is anything physical okay?”

“Everything we’ve been doing so far is perfect,” Enjolras replies. As if to make a point, he shifts forward, his side pressed against Combeferre’s.

“Can I kiss you?” he asks. Enjolras hums an affirmative. Combeferre moves towards his lips slowly, giving Enjolras time to back out. When their lips meet, Enjolras learns that it’s exactly the same as last time--a little weird, but it feels good to be this close to Combeferre.

When they break apart, Combeferre looks at Enjolras expectantly. “We can do that,” Enjolras tells him, easing the tense way Combeferre holds himself.

The second time is different than the first, because Combeferre runs his tongue along Enjolras’s bottom lip. Combeferre is hesitant, because the first kiss he gave Enjolras was weeks ago and terribly chaste, but Enjolras brings his hand up to cup the stubbled curve of Combeferre’s jaw and sighs into his mouth.

With a kiss and a murmur to have a good night, Combeferre stands and walks to his bedroom, looking over his shoulder at the last second with a fond smile. Enjolras realizes soon after that he returned it.

They aren’t affectionate in public, so they don’t have to tell any of their friends, except for Courfeyrac, who demands to know what was going on between them. They don’t hold hands, but that’s only because Enjolras needs both of his own to work.

A month passes and their kisses grow in intensity. Multiple times, Combeferre, flushed and panting, will break away and leave with a chaste press of lips on Enjolras’s forehead.

“This is okay,” Enjolras tells him, his hand a tight vice around Combeferre’s wrist. “I’d like this, if it’s something you want.” Combeferre stares at him for a moment, taking in the blush on Enjolras’s cheeks and the glaze in his eyes.

Combeferre nods slowly. “Okay,” he says, pulling Enjolras back in for a kiss.

The couch they bought on sale at Ikea shouldn’t be the perfect place for someone’s first time, but it is for Enjolras, because he definitely doesn’t need big romantic gestures,like rose petals and mood lighting. 

Enjolras straddles Combeferre’s legs, a thigh over each of Combeferre’s own, and promptly elbows Combeferre in the face. “Sorry,” he says through gasps of laughter and hastily pressed kisses to the side of Combeferre’s nose.

Combeferre’s fingers rest in the crook of Enjolras’s elbows, running over the jut of the bone. Against Enjolras’s lips, he states, “You could kill someone with those.”

That sets Enjolras off, and he has to rest his head on Combeferre’s shoulder while he shakes with laughter. During Enjolras’s bout of laughter, Combeferre kisses at his neck, feeling the rough scrape of stubble against his soft lips, reddening them.

Surprisingly, the playfulness between them does nothing to dissipate the mood.

They’re both hard, can feel it through the layers of clothes between them, and grinding their hips together feels just as good as kissing while smiling, nipping at each others lips and breathing a laugh when one of them groans.

“Combeferre,” Enjolras goads, shakily, when Combeferre’s fingers start to dip beneath the hem of his jeans. Combeferre pulls his hand away, runs it up Enjolras’s side, making him jerk out of reach from the lightness of the touch. “No, come on,” he says, almost whining.

Combeferre hides his smile against Enjolras’s shoulder, busying himself with biting the soft skin there. His fingers fumble at Enjolras’s fly, reaching in to close his hand around Enjolras, feeling him hot and hard and heavy in his palm. Enjolras’s mouth is open in a kiss at Combeferre’s throat, breathing harsh against him, moaning softly with every smooth movement.

He lifts his head to kiss Combeferre messily, sharing the air between them when it feels like there’s not enough in the room, in the entire world. He stills, his muscles going tense, before spilling into Combeferre’s hand.

Combeferre, unable to hold back any longer, presses his fingers into the flesh at Enjolras’s hipbones, grinds up into him, and follows him over the edge with a long groan.

They’re both trying to catch their breath, eyes still shut and hands clutching each other like a lifeline. Combeferre lifts his head from where it rests at Enjolras’s shoulder and says, “You're so bony, get off me.”

Enjolras laughs and shoves at his shoulder, moving off of him and standing, grabbing Combeferre’s clean hand and declaring that it’s time for a shower.

They make it until the end of the semester without difficulty until Feuilly and Bahorel drag Enjolras out of the apartment, celebrating the fact that something finally went right, and Combeferre’s being woken up from where he fell asleep waiting for Enjolras to his phone going off.

It’s Enjolras, of course, but his voice is thick and he sounds like he might be about to cry. Combeferre picks him up from the police station without comment. He flinches when he sees the bruises and the blood Enjolras is wearing.

Combeferre knows that Enjolras is smart, that he wouldn’t act thoughtlessly, so he offers Enjolras his arms and smooths his hands over his back when Enjolras starts to shake.

He brings out the first aid kit and cleans out the cuts from where Enjolras was slammed against the ground and his lip was split. He brushes his thumb over the bruise high along Enjolras’s cheekbone. He kisses the crease between Enjolras’s eyebrows and tells him to get some sleep. There’s painkillers on the table by his bed in the morning.

When he wakes up, the first thing Enjolras can feel is panic, clawing at his chest and up his throat. He doesn’t know where it’s from, only knows that he starts to shake when he thinks about the gentleness of Combeferre’s hands and he can’t catch his breath when he thinks about the way Combeferre put him back together.

Faintly, he thinks it might be a reaction to the way things between them seem far from platonic, but the thought of breaking it off with Combeferre makes something ache horribly in his chest and he dismisses that thought almost immediately.

It’s terrifying. When Combeferre smiles at him over breakfast and asks how his injuries are doing, he feels his stomach in knots. When Combeferre’s brows knit together in concern and he asks whether Enjolras is okay, he feels his heart in his throat.

But, Enjolras will never be able to lie to Combeferre, so he tells him the truth. Tells him that he’s never felt like this before and he doesn’t know what’s going on. Tells him that there’s a new feeling in his chest and it’s unfamiliar and different but the only thing it brings to mind is love, love, the romantic kind, and Combeferre presses Enjolras’s small frame against his chest and tells him he loves him, too.

 

**Author's Note:**

> kudos and comments are greatly appreciated!


End file.
